


In the Shadows Lie the Stars

by TelepathJeneral



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, Vampire AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-08
Updated: 2020-05-24
Packaged: 2020-10-12 15:47:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20566880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TelepathJeneral/pseuds/TelepathJeneral
Summary: Moira is a blood-sucker: a vampire. Young, perhaps, but experienced enough. She knows the routine. But there is one meal that  happens to be out of the ordinary.





	1. Chapter 1

Moira O’Deorain had learned, over several long years of artificially-extended life, that it was useless to have high expectations. The world was a disastrously terrible place, and the only person she could properly understand was herself. She had her own standards, but she was the only one who could meet them. Such was life.

When she entered the small apartment, then, she wasn’t surprised at the lack of order or cleanliness she found. It wasn’t a hovel, certainly—the neighborhoods she chose were not the type where bums and transients slouched on street corners. However, it was a ‘bachelor pad’, full of the quaint features of a single man living alone, and Moira resolved not to touch anything. Dishes sat on the counter, and a bath towel had ended up in the living room. It was easier not to question it.

The man himself was in the bedroom, further back from the large windows in the living room. It was late, so late that he’d turned off most of his lights, but Moira was momentarily pleased to find him reading. Her footsteps were soundless, her body blending into the shadows, and it was simplicity itself to grasp him by the back of the neck, slide his book out of his hands, and press herself against the warm life-giving pulse of his neck.

“_Stay._” She commanded, feeling his body go rigid in obedience, and she angled her head just slightly to bare her long teeth. His blood thrummed so close to the surface, humming just under the skin, and she trembled with the moment of anticipation—then she was biting, piercing the skin, already sucking gently to catch each last drop that gushed from his artery.

Part of the appeal, she knew, was in the intimacy. Vampires, or blood suckers, or whatever she was—they didn’t have much opportunity for this sort of closeness. Their own skin was so clammy and cold, their embraces more like the touch of a statue than the hug of a friend. She avoided her own kind, for the most part, ignoring the ‘covens’ or ‘dens’ that some of the others preferred. She was younger. Part of a newer generation. Ready to make her own way.

The man beneath her whimpered, his voice trapped by terror, and Moira smiled as she fed. The hand at his neck relaxed its hold, stroking the soft skin, and she lifted her legs to sit properly in the man’s lap instead of standing. He was a large man: broad and muscular. He would survive a moderate feeding, and be healthy enough to recover in time for another. The only shame was that she could not watch his face or see his expression, drink in his terror along with his blood. Next time, perhaps, she would go for his wrist. But the first time was always special, wasn’t it?

Amused by her own teasing, Moira closed her eyes, parodying a lover’s embrace as she lapped gently at the punctures she’d made. Her teeth remained in him, preventing the blood from spurting or gushing, and she worked slowly so that the coagulant in her saliva would have time to act. Yes, she would come back for him. She would leave him enough for next time.

As she lowered herself into his lap, Moira could feel her body absorbing his warmth, striving vainly to mirror it. It was easier for her than for some others to mimic a human body temperature, but it would never be perfect. His body was its own mystery, working to keep him alive, but as Moira shifted, she could feel him moving. She’d ordered him, commanded him to stay—he wouldn’t have the willpower to disobey, would he? Moira furrowed her brows, trying to pull away, but a low moan beside her ear made her hesitate.

Yes, he was moving. But when Moira shifted her legs experimentally, she noted two important details: first, the man beneath her moaned again, louder this time; and second, the part of him doing the most movement was nestled right between his legs, rising to brush against her thigh even through the layers of clothing between them. Moira paused in her feeding, lowering her hips to grind against him, and the _noises_ she produced from her current meal made her…hesitate.

There was a level of intimacy for her, perhaps, but she’d never considered that her _food_ might find the experience equally stimulating.

She had selected him with care. A researcher, she thought, much like herself. Worked long hours in a lab, under those fake florescent lights. A bachelor, bookish, but well built. Balding and older, though still with the dignity of a man of breeding. An ‘old world charm’, she might have said, if she was thinking about it. Well, she was thinking about it now, with his cock prodding her legs and her heartbeat matching his. Withdrawing her fangs, Moira worked to keep any drop of blood from spilling, licking instead of sucking at the wounds she’d made, and she allowed her hands to rise up to caress his shoulders gently. No longer like a mistress corralling a servant, but like a friend. A lover.

It was amusing, too. Was he so desperate for something? Had he been without intimacy for so long? There were some humans so depraved that they needed even the slightest hint of touch, of affection—but she hadn’t seen that in him. He had been mostly _normal_. Not distinctive enough to be missed, after long. But the way he was responding, trying to hold her, jerking up to meet her slow, cautious movements, that was not ‘normal’. This was something else.

Moira could hear her own heartbeat thudding in her ears, growing more intense and more dizzying by the second. The punctures she’d made were closing, her tongue working in tiny movements to coax the skin together, but his arousal was only more intense, more insistent. Between her legs, she could feel the flicker of reciprocated response, the first bloom of warmth that came with new blood in her veins and the temptation of an interested partner. Hugging him, holding him, Moira nestled her head against his neck, holding him close, and ground down onto him to feel him shudder. He gasped, his voice edged with pain and pleasure, and she grinned to herself as his hips jerked. Just once—just once, to feel his thighs tense and his hips move.

He gasped. He cried out, just once. He grabbed at her, trembling, then relaxed again, panting with the effort. Moira lifted herself to study her work, amazed by the flush and the power that had possessed him, somewhat surprised that his hands were still resting on her legs. He was dazed, eyes cloudy with confusion, but he met her gaze with…with _wonder_. As if she was the most wonderful thing in his view. Moira stared back, afraid to move or to speak, until—

A noise in the apartment above startled her, prompting her to stand with supernatural speed and move back into the shadows. The man stood to follow her, trying to keep pace, but Moira disappeared without leaving a trace, slipping through the window she’d opened to emerge into the night air. She tried to take a deep breath, settling her heartbeat and quashing the flood of warmth still swirling in her abdomen, and ran. She had to get away. Her feeding would make her vulnerable, and she couldn’t—

She couldn’t waste her time thinking about _him._


	2. Chapter 2

Entering the apartment was easier, now that she knew what she was doing. The latch was loose, and the lights were dimmer on one side of the building, making her entrance all that more subdued. The drama of her arrival was somewhat muted by the crinkling of shopping bags, banging against her leg as she tried to clamber into the kitchen. She could see well enough in the dark to maneuver, settling the bags on the kitchen counter with more crinkling and rustling.

Plastic shopping bags did not entirely match the idea of herself that Moira had created: she knew her strengths, and “shopping for groceries” was not one of them. It had been even worse in the supermarket, squinting under the glare of florescent lights at the labels and prices, but she’d made it this far. She had made it here.

She’d fed earlier, in preparation for this big outing, and she could feel her own pulse. A unique, alien sensation—she’d almost forgotten it. The transformation had been painful enough, but It was _over_ now. And yet she was shopping for groceries. For _him._

She’d done it before: she’d nurtured a few meals in the past. Finding someone with the style and taste that make her _hum_, well, that was rare enough to be cherished. She’d worked hard to take care of some of her little meals, savoring them properly. And from her first inspection of this one’s kitchen, he had some work to do.

There were the basics, of course. Protein, in several forms, good and rich and full of iron. She would not have her snack fainting from anemia—not while he was in her care. He clearly exercised, but a bit more emphasis on good vegetables wouldn’t hurt. She would have to train him up, building up even as she drained him of life.

As she considered all this, wondering if she should make a list or start a recipe book, the lights flicked on and startled her momentarily. Without shifting her position, she glanced at the man standing at the door of the kitchen, taking in his surprise and confusion all at once.

“It’s _you_.” He breathed the words, the book in his hands dropping to the floor. Moira did her best to hold his gaze, but—she hadn’t expected it this way. She hadn’t anticipated this. His eyes were so big, so bright, and she felt…_trapped_. She did not like feeling trapped. She had pinned him last time, yes? So why was she hesitating now?

“Doctor.” She’d done her research, this time. Found out a bit more. “Doctor de Kuiper.”

“You—” He blinked, breaking the spell, and nearly stumbled forward, prompting her to move forward to catch him. He recovered, fortunately, but he didn’t know where to go, and Moira breathed a sigh of relief to realize that he was just as uncertain as she was. He didn’t know anything about her. She was still in control here.

“I’ve brought you a few things.” She waved nonchalantly to the bags on the counter, adjusting to face him properly. He was a true specimen clothed in old pajama pants and an old t-shirt—a shame, in her opinion. Despite herself, she moved forward to reach up for his shoulders, pushing him back into the shadow of the hallway.

“You’re _real_.”

“Real enough.” She conceded, drawn closer by the heat of his body. She could tell him about the presents later. For now…she was getting a touch peckish.

“I thought I dreamed you.” And the accent, to boot: he was from the Continent, of course, that old world charm. But was he honest? Was he honestly claiming that he…_dreamed_ her?

It was sweet, though. And with all the blood in her veins, it did make her heart skip a beat. Moira smiled slowly, gripping his shirt. “I can be a dream. If you want it.” A little bit of suggestion, and he could easily forget her entire visit—

“No!” The force of his response shocked her, making her grip even harder. “No, I—I want to remember. May I?”

Fair to say, he was not what she expected at all.

“Names, perhaps.” She stopped herself from going too far. From losing control of this. “May I call you Siebren?”

“Sie—yes! Yes, call me Siebren. Because that’s my name.” He nodded eagerly, confusion suddenly clouding his gaze. “How do you—”

“I’m Moira.” She interrupted smoothly, lifting her hands higher to stroke the sides of his neck. That pulse, so strong and sweet… “You may call me Moira.”

“Moira.” He attempted, somewhat clumsily. No matter: he’d have plenty of practice later.

God, it had been ages since she’d had this much fun. And he was so broad—but she wasn’t an animal. She’d sworn to herself that she wouldn’t be one of _those_ blood drinkers, one that simply ignored their own humanity and pretended to be cold and calculating. She was both those things, yes, but she could adapt. _God_, she could adapt to him.

“Are you going to…” He blinked again, glancing down at the lack of space between them, and she could feel his anticipation. Last time had been so quick, so rushed. This time could be different.

“Siebren, I need a few very specific things from you.”

“Anything.” He was so quick. So _eager_. Could he be real?

“It will come easily, soon enough. But you will need to be still. To be strong, even through the pain.”

“I can do that.” He was…he _wanted_ to please her. That was a novelty. Moira paused, trying to judge the way the light softened across his features, and finally pushed his shoulders back to help him find the wall behind.

“Good. That way we can both find a way to get what we want.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Continued...

Now that she’d started touching him, she didn’t want to stop. She was as warm as him this time, their body temperatures melding, and she smiled as she lifted herself higher.

“I’d like to try something different.” She instructed, leaning against him as she reached for his hand. They were large hands, strong hands. Pressed together, their bodies made a small space, just enough for her to lift their hands to her lips. She took a breath, inhaling the deep, rich scent of his body, and pressed her lips to his knuckles to taste his sweat. Beneath her, Siebren shuddered, his body already prepared for her intrusion. “You’re ready?”

“_Anything_.” He breathed, whimpering as she moved her lips to his palm. She tried to go slow, to take her time and savor him, but it was a test of her patience. The meat of his palm thudded with blood, flexing in her hand, and she lifted his hand higher to shift her attention to his wrist. There, the pulse was stronger, the skin softer, and she bared her teeth against the skin. He jumped, twisting beneath her, but she didn’t continue until he’d gotten himself under control.

“Sorry—”

“Shush.” She commanded, feeling him tense at the command. Ready, eager, and willing to listen to directions? She’d have to treat him especially well. But her own needs were pressing, her hunger stirring, and she lunged forward to press him against the wall and force the breath from his lungs.

“_Mine_.” She whispered against his arm, breath stirring the hair, and she bit down to let the hot, sweet blood flow into her mouth. It was trickier than the neck, to be certain: she could feel the delicacy of the muscles and bones, the fragility in the veins, and the angles were devilishly annoying. His arm was forced against the wall, spreading him out like a butterfly, and Moira ground her hips against his as she tried to find the easiest position. By instinct, one of her legs lifted slightly, thigh cradling his legs as the pulse in her mouth began to match the pulse between her legs.

As she’d experienced last time, Siebren was no slouch—his pants were thin enough for his excitement to become obvious as it rose to meet her, his breaths rushed and shaky. Wrapped up in the taste of him, Moira tried to take stock of all the things that needed doing: his arousal, her own hunger, the new factor of her own arousal, and the bothersome fabric between them both. The shock of his taste flooded through her, wiping clean any memory of an earlier meal. Siebren was simply _better_. Rich, and heady, clean from years of decent living and full of life. She’d have to get him wine, just so she could get properly drunk again through him—

But first things first. Her hand remained on his, holding his arm up for her lips to work, but her other hand pressed against his stomach to feel the strength there. Yes, she’d chosen well. It was simplicity itself to reach into his pants, circling the shaft of his erection before grasping him fully. Siebren jerked, his instincts warring with the desire so obvious in his blood, and Moira smiled against his skin as she began to stroke him in long, even movements.

It was simpler than she’d imagined. Her own body remained close, letting her grind and roll against him, but her hand teased him more directly, pulling down the elastic of his waistband to expose his cock to the air. As she’d commanded, he kept quiet, whimpers and whines escaping him unconsciously, but as she dug in her teeth and circled the head of his erection with her thumb, he began to squirm more earnestly.

“Moira—” Mm. The accent was still so nice. She couldn’t quite respond, what with his blood filling her mouth, but she sucked hard at the skin, mirroring the love bites and assaults of teenage starlets. He groaned as she fed, hips pushing now against hers, and Moira tried to ignore the growing insistence in her groin. Her body so rarely felt so _alive_—it was becoming difficult to ignore the call. “Moira!”

“Mm.” She tried to nod, tongue swirling around the wounds she’d made, but he wasn’t able to hold still—not that she wanted him to. His hips bucked, demanding even more effort from her to keep hold of him, and she tensed as his hand came to her leg and lifted her higher. Spread over him, legs partially straddling him, she tried to keep up her pace with him even as the puncture wounds began to close. Damn, she should have planned this better—she should have brought the tourniquet, gotten him ready, explained things a bit more—

Suddenly, Siebren was grabbing harder, fingers digging into her thigh, pulling her up against him as he came into her hand. In her fingers, his cock twitched with release, spilling his seed over her palm and wrist, and Moira pulled away in shock as the scent of _sex_ flooded her senses. Musk, both hers and his, built to a terrifying crescendo, and she barely registered the blood still staining her lips as Siebren raised his hands together to grab at her shoulders. A heartbeat later, he was pulling her to him again, a hand in her hair to keep her still as he crushed her to his lips.

The taste was so similar and yet so different, warm and soft instead of just the rush of blood, and Moira gasped as he sucked his own blood from her mouth. It was terrible, the two of them in this perverted dance of bodies and blood, and she was certain there would be stains—but his hands were so determined, crushing her close, and Moira trembled as she tried to lift herself higher.

His lips moved, leaving her breathless, pressing to the skin beneath her ear, trailing down her neck, then suddenly Moira found herself moved again by those sure, strong hands. Turned so that she faced away from him, she was pulled back against him, one of his arms circling her just beneath her breasts while one hand slid beneath the waistband of her pants. She hadn’t expected—no, she hadn’t expected most of this. Arcing up into the touch, Moira cried out softly to feel him tease her sensitive folds, fingers fumbling to find the thing that would make her scream. She would not have the stamina to let him play too long, especially not as his kisses resumed against her neck and shoulders. Pressing him back, Moira covered his hand with hers, pressing him close as she ground against him once, twice, until—

To have her senses so completely crushed by this sparking, dancing pleasure—she’d forgotten that, too. The pulse was one thing, the taste of blood another, but orgasm was a rarer delight. Her legs trembled, trying to lock around his hand, but Siebren simply continued his easy strokes as she shouted her triumph. Not his name—not yet. His name was less important than his scent, his warmth, his willingness to have her.

The darkness would keep their secret. The darkness protected her, and now protected him. Even as the last rush of blood subsided, restoring her somewhat to clearheadedness, she thanked whatever goddess she had that her condition demanded the darkness. Easier to come to him then, easier for him to forget the painful details…

Despite their mutual disarray, Moira extracted herself quickly from his arms, turning back to meet his lips again in another sloppy kiss, then backed away to watch him fumble. His eyes were unfocused now, no longer sparkling with confusion but dazed with pleasure, and she smiled to herself to imagine his ‘dreams’ tonight. But she had—no. This was not a place to linger.

Heart racing, head spinning, Moira danced back to the kitchen with lightfooted ease, slipping out of the loose window and returning to the chill outside. The others would laugh to see her so uncertain—oh, she appreciated her pleasures, yes, but they always made her weak. She’d have to be careful. Keep this one—this _Siebren_—keep him safe, secure. Cared for.

It was just the blood, making her sentimental. And his scent, still on her hand and arm. In the morning, the next day, she’d find this all foolish.

But for now, her veins sang with his blood, and the chill only made her feel more alive than she had in years.


	4. Chapter 4

She was... _ perfect _ .

Siebren de Kuiper had not spent much of his time daydreaming about girls. He’d been a remarkably focused young man, and had built his career around his ability to work through long, detailed projects. Math was his fantasy of choice, a world of delicate formulae and equations far more intriguing than whatever ingenue sat at the nearby desk. He did not idolize women. And yet…

She’d given him a name, last time. ‘Moira’. She appeared to him in the darkness, like a dream, and then she’d done something. It was hazy to him at that point, his memories clouded, but she would touch him, handle him. It was like a drug, the way she spoke to him. She was so  _ cold _ , too, like a statue carved from stone, but it only made him want to grab her close and lend her his warmth. She preoccupied his thoughts, coming to him in random ideas during the day, and he could only guess when she might visit him again. 

_ Moira _ . Elegant in its simplicity, her name summarized her perfectly. It fit in his mouth like a bubble, allowing him to slide it over his tongue with ease. It lingered in his dreams, like a song stuck in his head. It remained with him so much so that, when he was roused from sleep, he believed the disruption to be his own imagination at first. The press of a hand on his shoulder and the weight on his chest he assumed to be remnants of an unusual dream, up until he felt the whisper of breath on his cheek.

“Wake.” Her voice was low and rough, as if she too had just woken up. Siebren tried to cultivate restraint and gentility in his waking life, but Moira was outside of all that. It seemed that with her, the rules did not apply.

She did, after all, drink his blood. Perhaps she would understand a few social deviations. 

“Moira.” He tried to convey his pleasure, his eagerness, even as he sat up to greet her, but his eyes did not adjust quickly to the darkness. “Welcome back, although this isn’t--I should tell you my schedule, in the event you’d like to choose a day to arrive.”

Moira sat back, moving to sit on the edge of his bed. They’d never been in his bedroom before, and Siebren tried to evaluate how messy the room was. When had he cleaned? Before he could concentrate, the sound of laughter made him look to Moira again, finding her hunched as she laughed aloud. 

“You would do that?”

“It isn’t that difficult. I keep an agenda at the university, I can make a copy.”

Moira laughed again, rocking back on the mattress, kicking her legs out as she calmed herself. “Doctor de Kuiper.”

“Siebren.”

“Yes. Siebren.” She shifted position, getting to her knees before reaching for him again. “You are a unique pleasure. Dinner and a show? A girl could only hope to be so lucky.”

“Dinner.” Siebren swallowed thickly, recalling the realities of Moira’s visits. 

“Oh, yes. I could make it easier on you, you know. I can impose, ah...hypnotic suggestions. Low-level mental persuasion.” Moira moved forward in order to position herself nearly in Siebren’s lap, gripping Siebren’s shirt with both hands. Her nails dug into the fabric, and Siebren tried not to let his imagination run too far ahead. Her hands--her lips--

But no. No, she had something to do first. Even now she was leaning in, her body curling near his, her lips coming to his neck before--

Fuck.

_ Fuck. _

He did try incredibly hard, but  _ damn _ if it didn’t hurt. Her teeth were an ache, deep in his veins, piercing him it felt to his very heart. He jerked as she made initial contact, but forced himself to remain silent, allowing her to move him as required. He half-wished he could speak. It was nicer when he could speak to her. But it did  _ hurt _ quite a bit, and it wasn’t as if she could respond. Her mouth was full, which would make conversation difficult. 

Even so, she was still nestled against him. Last time, they’d been able to have a decent conversation, which had proved  _ something _ . He just couldn’t remember what. Oh, her name! She’d given him her name. He took it for granted that she knew everything about him, since she was clearly inhuman and likely magical, somehow. Never mind that magic didn’t exist. Moira didn’t exist within the rational section of his life, and he didn’t find it necessary to apply ‘logic’ to her actions. No, Moira existed within this much warmer, much softer section, with her lips and her teeth and this feeling of  _ tugging  _ that was both incredibly painful and deeply arousing. Perhaps he was just easy, or desperate, but Moira’s bites left him flustered and more than awake, with blood thudding through him to each extremity.

He lost track of time, too, whenever she fed. Her lips sucked at his skin, making him groan, but Moira would not let go, her legs shifting atop his lap. Previously, they’d had the barrier of clothing between them, but now they had added a layer of bedding, Siebren still trapped beneath the blanket. He couldn’t tell if that made it better or worse: better, with the added barrier to minimize Moira’s touches, or worse, with the teasing ever more intense with the promise of more to come. 

She was heaven in his arms. Truly. He was not a man often given to superlatives, but she was  _ amazing _ . Heavy, a comforting solidity that affirmed her reality. She was no dream, not this time. And then the pain, that edge of ache and cold, confirmed her intent. Perhaps she did only want to hurt him, but he trusted her for reasons he couldn’t identify. Her smile? Her voice? He could spend lifetimes cataloguing it, and never come to a conclusion. 

Her lips remained on his neck, but he could feel the withdrawal as she slid her teeth out of the punctures she’d made. His head swam with the shock of it and he gasped sharply as he tried to focus, pain and longing aching in his chest. His hands moved, lifting to her arms, gripping her tightly as he fought through the sensation.

“Shh.” That was her now, again, shushing against his skin. She could ignore his grip so easily, no matter how hard he grabbed, and Siebren kicked against the blankets in frustration. He didn’t want to hurt her, no, not  _ that _ , but he--he wanted to mark her. Like she marked him. Moira moved easily, slowly, flushed now with her exertions. His blood fed her. She needed that from him, wanted it from him, and even with the effort of her feeding, he could feel the pulse between his legs of developing arousal.

“Moira.” He pushed her back, forcing her to break contact before he pressed his lips to hers. She scrambled momentarily to arrange him, covering his bite with her hand, but she did not pull away from the kiss, welcoming him into her mouth. She was like a physical anomaly, cold and warm in pieces, her teeth sharp enough to make him wary. The sharp metallic taste of blood could not make him falter, and Siebren used one hand to free himself more fully from the blankets before lifting her, moving her.

“You are--” Moira began, her legs moving to squeeze his waist. “Siebren.”

“You’re so  _ beautiful _ .” It was easier in the darkness. Easier to be honest. Perhaps that was why he’d never gotten any good at flirting. “Moira, don’t go.”

“I won’t.” She soothed, a hand coming up to stroke his cheek. It must be the blood that changed her: her hair was now out of place, her eyes widening. She was beginning to look as unkempt as he felt. “Siebren, you surprise me.”

He blinked rapidly, relaxing his hold. “I realize that I am--I mean, this is unconventional, but I...I prefer it. When you’re here.”

“That’s what I mean.” Moira nodded, leaning forward to rest her head against his shoulder. “You’re not afraid.”

“I am always, always afraid.” Siebren blurted, fingers digging into her shirt. “Do you know what I do all day? I stare up at the sky, I look at, at the  _ darkness _ between each star, and it. It doesn’t stop.”

“Siebren.”

“I do my research and it’s good, it’s  _ good _ work, and I am so lucky to do it, but we are just tiny specks on a rock held up by magic and gods.” He nodded quickly, pushing her down so that she was now lying beneath him on the bed. “You happen to be more real than most of my work. If I’m honest.”

“Oh, heaven forbid that we lose our  _ honesty _ .” Moira pressed up to him, twining her arms around his neck. “Third time’s the charm, is it?”

“What?”

“Nothing. I’m just saying: after three times, I think I can officially say we’ve made a habit of these visits.” Moira closed her eyes, rolling her hips up. Siebren started, the movement pressing her body against the length of his erection, but he let her pull him in as he worked to unfasten her shirt.

This was the surprising part: her clothing was always so  _ normal _ , so mundane. He worked for a moment to slip her shirt up, to unfasten the fabric of her bra. He couldn’t be certain of what she was doing to help, but at some point, her hands slid down the waistband of his sweatpants, exposing him to the air and making him gasp. 

They had never had real conversations. He regretted it slightly, worried that it made him less than ‘normal’, but with a naked woman pawing at him, he supposed normalcy didn’t matter as much. He was able to lower himself closer, almost afraid to press too tightly, but Moira was the one to grab even more tightly and drag him to her.

“Don’t be afraid of leaving a mark, my sweet.” She groaned deep in her throat, a low noise that made his cock jump. “Better men than you have tried to stake me and been disappointed.”

He couldn’t really reply, but managed a warbling moan, nearly collapsing atop her as his hips jerked forward. His lips searched for purchase, pressing to her forehead and hair, and he could feel her clever hands stroking him, guiding him into her. He hadn’t--certainly there was more he had to do, something else before he--

“ _ Do it _ .” She hissed against him, her nails digging into the muscle of his buttocks. Siebren trembled, thrusting forward to feel a smooth, slick warmth around him. Her hands, her muscles were like iron, binding him ever closer, and he cried out as he felt her muscles pulling him in. He was awkward, he knew, so impossibly awkward, and yet she was gripping him and begging for him. Asking for him. He couldn’t stand in the face of that, couldn’t resist the pull, and he leveraged himself against the bed to push against her with new energy.

His thrusts were choppy and uncoordinated at first, but Moira reached up, reached to grip his back and guide him, and he shuddered in her arms. The rush of impulse was overwhelming, wracking him from head to toe, but as he found a rhythm, he began to note a familiar ache in his neck. Even as her hands held him firm, Moira had returned her lips to his neck, sucking gently at the wound she’d already made in order to feed once more.

“Moira--” He gasped, unsure whether the shock down his spine was from her work or the natural progress of lovemaking. She did not answer, but her hands roamed the exposed expanse of his back, nails digging into his skin as she pushed up against him.

He did try to speak, to say something beyond her name, but each breath that left him became part of a groan or a gasp. She was so smooth, so perfect, and her taste was divine. Could anyone else be such a perfect merge of dream and fantasy? Could any imagined dream pierce him so roughly, or tighten her grip so firmly? No, he needed her, he craved her like he craved sunlight, and his body was a weak fleshy thing to try and express his desire.

Belatedly, he remembered his hands, shifting so that his weight pressed more fully into her as his hands moved. He reached up, gripping at her shoulder, her waist, lifting her to him as his hips pushed forward. Her breasts were full and firm, crushed into his chest as he pressed her into the mattress, and he could only grunt roughly as he drove his hips against hers. 

That dream-like state she produced in him made him feel lighter, brighter, his brain turning to fire as he pinned her to the bed. She pulled away from her bite, making him keen at the loss, but then her lips were at his ear, whispering and moaning with soft desperate noises. The muscles deep at her core fluttered, frighteningly tight around him, and he trembled as she lifted her hips and cried out sharply. It was not pain: she was not afraid of him, and he was learning that she was incapable of pain. But her muscles were rippling in the grip of something greater, and he cried out in response to feel her, to push her through each pulsing wave of ecstacy.

Her hands and arms had tightened further, drawing blood from his shoulders, but the pain was merely a compounded form of her feeding. His cock thudded with each tiny movement, and as Moira turned to kiss him again, he was already lost to his own pulsing rush.

His hips stuttered in a staccato rhythm, driving him deep inside her, but even as he rocked against her, Moira moved to soothe him and stroke him. Her body was tied tight to his now, locked against him, and as he cried out with the rush of orgasm, Moira lifted herself, riding his movements and silencing him with the press of her lips.

Her tongue slid between his lips, coaxing even more from his tired lungs, and he found himself rolling to the side as he tried to deepen their kiss. A new pain made him twist in discomfort, and he blinked rapidly to find Moira pulling back and stroking his lips anew. Right!  _ Breathing _ . He still had to breathe.

He could not be sure how long he lay there, unseeing and yet still feeling. Eventually, Moira shifted her legs around him, loosening her hold, but Siebren grabbed roughly for her again and clung to her waist. Conversation was a mere formality, a waste of time unnecessary for their tethering. 

Even so, Moira moved around him, pulling away briefly to leave Siebren suddenly alone and cold in the darkness. He sat up, trying to follow, but was quickly pushed back once more by Moira’s hand at the center of his chest. Sheets were shuffled and clothing arranged, but Siebren was unable to truly focus until Moira was in his arms again, curling against his chest.

His brief disappointment was that she had clothed herself once more. He groaned in irritation, lowering his head once more to find her forehead with his lips, and tried to form full words again as Moira smoothed the sheets. “You put on your things again.”

“I might get cold.” Moira’s voice was still perfectly low and sensuous, making his heart pound again, but she reached for his chin to stroke the skin lightly. “Siebren?”

“Yes. Moira.” He nearly stammered, but swallowed in time, wetting his throat again. 

“I think I’m going to stay tonight.” Her voice was growing fainter, softer, and Siebren could feel the shared tug of sleep. And yet--she was staying? Certainly this deserved greater acknowledgement.

“Moira, do you--”

“Stay.” The tone of command in her voice made him shudder, curling around her in response to burrow into her hair. “Siebren, I am staying.”

“Thank you.” He whispered, inhaling deep of her complicated, musky scent. The morning would bring its own problems. But for now, he had her.

“It is my pleasure, Siebren.” Her voice lulled him, soothed him. Already, exhaustion was washing over him. “And trust me:  _ you are _ .” 

Reality would close in around him soon enough. With the morning sun, Moira might well be gone. But he would have this, he had her, just for now.

He could not remember the last time he had slept so soundly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the suggestion of Siebren 'staking' Moira, despite the fact that I included very little of that obvious humor in the scene.


	5. Chapter 5

The apartment was dark when Siebren entered, and he winced as he fumbled for a lightswitch. Schedules were a bitch, frankly, and he’d spent too long doing the organizing over and over again only for someone else to cancel or reschedule. When he’d become a physicist, he never imagined it would take so much secretarial work.

Noises in the kitchen made him pause and he felt a twinge of fear that precluded a warmer, fuller rush of interest. Of course. Even though the lights were off, he must have--moving to the door of the kitchen, he smiled to see movement in the shadows, and reached out to turn on the other light.

Moira hissed softly, though her expression held no malice. In her hand she held a pair of shiny tongs, and Siebren hummed in amusement as he approached. His bag had been left in the entryway, and he slid off his shoes as he drew closer to her.

“Good thing I don’t buy silver kitchenware.”

“Hush.” She patted his shoulder, moving past him to check the steak baking in the small oven. Siebren watched from behind her as she pulled out a prime cut of meat, arranging it on a plate beside an assortment of green vegetables and mashed potatoes. “You’re late. I was getting worried.”

“I didn’t update the schedule.” He shook his head in mild amusement: schedules intervened here, too. On his refrigerator, a dry-erase calendar made brief notes of dates and times, and he noted with delight the small stars and initials Moira had made for herself. When had she done that?

“Well, you’re here now.” Moira nodded, directing him to the chair before bringing the plate to him. After getting himself a glass of water, Siebren took his seat and hummed his thanks, cutting into the meat. Perfectly done, of course: a bit more pink than he would like, but she must have been cooking it for even longer than she’d intended. Interesting. 

“No gravy for the potatoes?” He noted, taking a bite. Moira smiled enigmatically, slipping forward to fold herself between his arms and perch on his lap as he ate. It was a tight fit, yes--but Siebren found he did not mind. 

“You don’t need that much salt.” She chided, tracing his jaw with a finger. “Eat the broccoli.”

He groaned in annoyance, grateful for the weight of her against him. He did as she asked, acknowledging now and then that she  _ was _ quite skilled at this kind of meal preparation, despite her disinterest in tasting the results.

“I taste it sometimes.” She assured him. “When I’m ready.”

He nodded knowingly, savoring the meat. Moira almost always prepared steak, which he preferred given that he had no experience with that cut of meat. His forte was usually chili, casserole dishes which required no extensive work and many taste-tests of salt, but Moira had categorically banned them from the apartment. 

Moira hummed to him, kissing the side of his neck, and Siebren could feel the chill of her skin like ice against him. Even as he finished eating, Moira withdrew again to find a small satchel on the couch and removed a cuff with a plastic bulb to bring it back to Siebren’s seat. Siebren watched her carefully, lifting an arm to let her slip the cuff around his bicep, and focused on the last of his meal as she sat in his lap once more. A few adjustments and then he could feel the pressure of the cuff inflating, the soft puffs of air increasing before releasing in a long stream. 

Moira repeated the procedure twice, nodding confirmation to herself, then removed the cuff to watch Siebren again. “I suppose you might suffer from white-coat syndrome. A fear of doctors or nurses…”

“You are neither of those.” He assured her. “Though there may be other factors that affect the results.”

“Ew.” Moira made a face, shifting back and fetching a napkin to dab at the sides of Siebren’s mouth. “You’re a dirty old man, you know.”

“And you’re a flirtatious tease.” Siebren leered, pleased to feel her laughing against him. 

“Oh, I’ve waited long enough, Siebren.” Moira sighed, lowering her head to his neck. He could feel her nose like a point of ice, tracing the arteries there. “You’re perfect.  _ Perfect _ .”

“So the results were good.”

“Oh, shush. Blood pressure is ideal, you’ve had plenty of protein. How many miles for cardio this week?”

“Nineteen--round it up and call it twenty.”

“Good.” Moira purred, stroking the length of Siebren’s neck. Lulled by the motion, Siebren was surprised to find that her bite was slow, sensuous, hardly painful at all as she began to lap gently at the wound. 

“I’m sorry I was late.” He managed to say lowly, forcing the words past the thickness in his throat. His hands were still moving, rising to find her waist, and Siebren whimpered softly as he slid one beneath her shirt to feel the chill of her skin. “Thank you.”

Moira could not reply fully, but she hummed against him, lifting a hand to graze the hair at the back of his head. Siebren shivered anew, stroking her stomach and tracing the base of her ribs.

“You’re  _ incredible _ .” His patience was thin, even now: he unclasped her trouser pants, sliding his hand lower now to find the cleft between her legs. Moira moaned to him, spreading her legs wider to allow him access, and Siebren tilted his head back as he began his work in earnest.

She was cold, even still, but as she fed on him, his blood brought new warmth to her veins. Step by step, as his fingers worked and her feeding continued, her body warmed to him, her limbs curling and unfolding against him as her nerves burned.

Her withdrawal was barely noticeable as Siebren worked more fervently, her lips now kissing, sucking on his skin without drawing blood. Though his head spun with the loss of blood, Siebren adjusted his position to kiss the top of her head, his fingers coated with her arousal. 

“Sweet thing.” He murmured, feeling her hands clasping him. She clung to him for support, for grounding, and he groaned as her thighs tightened around his hand. She twisted, hips turning, and Siebren grinned as she suddenly shouted, her body tensing around him as she fell into a desperate, powerful orgasm. Both of them were breathless, panting against each other as Moira’s body recovered, and Siebren shifted his hips to support her more easily as he studied her. 

She was flushed now, red in the cheeks and eyes wide with sensation, and he purred to her as she recovered. He withdrew his hands to let her sit up and she smiled softly, her earlier mystery and coyness gone. “Siebren!”

“Moira.” He acknowledged, ducking forward to kiss her quickly. Moira nodded, smoothing her shirt, and raised a hand to press against his chest. 

“What did I say? Dirty old man.”

“Thank you for dinner.” He nodded, relaxing against the chair to hold her against him. Now she was warm, soft, perfectly suited to his lap. “Is this--well. Moira. Have you done this...before?”

“I have had other partners, Siebren. Meals.” She frowned prettily, stroking the line of his shirt. “You know how I dislike such discussions.”

“Yes, but--have you made meals for them? Like this?” Siebren watched her carefully, intrigued by the furrows in her brow.

“Yes, Siebren. I have. But--”

“Shh. I just--I was simply curious. You are so talented at it, despite your years of...not. Being human.” Siebren cleared his throat, matching her reluctance now. “I am not jealous, Moira. You are...a singularly unique being, and I am honored to know you for however long I am able. Thank you. For everything.”

“Romantic fool.” Despite her reprimand, Moira leaned against his chest, tucking her head beneath his chin to rest momentarily. Siebren held her there, rubbing his chin over her crown. 

“I am glad I can provide something. Really.”

“Siebren, you provide more than enough. More than I could have dreamed.” Moira confessed. “Would you like me to stay tonight? I will not need to leave until much later.”

“Stay.” He insisted. “Whenever you can, whenever you would--yes. Stay.”

Moira did not answer specifically, but offered a trill of pleasure, tucking herself against Siebren once more. Siebren relaxed, letting his eyes close for a moment, and thanked whatever mysterious gods he could for Moira’s appearance.

She did not seem to realize, but he would always attempt to prove it to her: she was a gift to him, and he would ensure that she recognized it in the end. 


	6. Chapter 6

The night was deep and dark, and Moira cursed herself as she searched for footing along the rooftops. She was late, much too late. She’d overslept, for one thing, and her skill at hunting had declined. She was losing her edge. 

Even edging along the windowsills was difficult, and she couldn’t tell whether it was her distraction or something else. She’d fed, and her skin was already warm to the touch, but her mind felt odd. Blurry. Her balance was not as polished as it could be. She fumbled with the window latch, slipping into the darkened kitchen and reaching for the counter to steady herself. She inhaled, an edge of discomfort making her skin stand up in goosebumps, and scanned the darkness to orient herself. 

She was here for Siebren. A brilliant mind and a beautiful body: he truly had it all. He’d provided her with many meals, and treated her with a reverence that had stroked her ego. He had spoken to her, accepted her attentions without question. She  _ liked _ him.

As she studied the room, she found Siebren at his dining table, staring straight ahead into the darkness. Moira hesitated, worried by the unnatural stillness of his posture. Had he heard her enter? It was later than her usual visits, and he still needed his sleep. Was he feeling unwell? Was something wrong?

It took her too long to notice the other figure, the statuesque creature lurking in the far corner of Siebren’s living room, and Moira shuddered with distress. This was unlike her: her latest meal was of poor quality, and it had addled her brain too much. She reached out for the countertop, steadying herself as she stared at the pale figure, then bared her teeth in a silent hiss.

“Come now, darling. We must still be civil.”

The voice was clean and refined, the curves of the vowels the only hint of a French upbringing. It slid into her veins like ice, feminine and smooth with the power of experience and age. Even now, Moira could feel those few short words worming into her brain, twisting her senses even further and trying to blunt her remaining faculties. To her, it was an irritant to be overcome. To a mortal, it must have been something overpowering.

“Amelie.”

“Moira.” She treated the Gaelic syllables with disdain, as if her Norman predecessors were infinitely more dignified. Moira rolled her eyes.

“I will give two warnings.”

“So generous! This one must have softened you.”

“If you  _ dared _ to touch him--” Moira’s breath caught in her throat, her eyes returning to Siebren to study him again. What had she done? And why? 

“It’s cute when you pretend.” Amelie still did not move, conducting the conversation from her darkened corner. Moira was relieved that her strength had not fled her entirely, but she wouldn’t have the capacity to challenge Amelie too directly. Amelie was like her: a remnant of the Old World, a return to ages past. She was older, yes, and more talented. And she rarely missed an opportunity to remind Moira of those details.

Weighing her options, Moira moved forward to where Siebren was seated, reaching out to trace the mark of her feedings against the flesh of his neck. His skin was somehow cold, to her--unusual, given their situations. Usually it was she who was frigid to the touch, while he was overly warm. Amelie smiled, her teeth pricking her bottom lip, and Moira kept her hand on Siebren’s shoulder as she faced the other woman.

“You should not have come here.”

“You know it was easy. He didn’t even protest.” Amelie studied a hand, pacing the far wall. “Their minds are so  _ small _ . So pliant. Even his.”

“Release him.”

“As a guest, surely I deserve some hospitality.”

“Amelie--”

“ _ Listen _ .” Amelie stopped moving, facing Moira fully and emphasizing her word with the full weight of her strength. Even with her own resilience, Moira could feel the intensity of that mesmerism, that particular talent adding to Amelie’s unnatural beauty and presence.

“You’re an idiot.”

“Quiet!” Amelie stormed forward, her irritation at the lack of results ruffling her smooth demeanor. It was the way to deal with most of the others, Moira had found--never reveal their effect, never show your hand. Fortunately, most of them left her alone. Amelie just never knew when to leave well enough alone. 

“Let him go.”

“I wanted to  _ talk _ , Moira.” Amelie had nearly reached the table now, her skin almost gleaming in the faint light from the street outside. Beneath Moira’s hand, Siebren was frozen, immobile, and Moira refused to consider what was in his mind right now. She could not release him, refused to leave him, and she kept her hand on his shoulder to feel the comforting weight of him nearby.

“I have nothing to say.”

“You really should make an effort to visit.”

“And this is your idea of an invitation?”

Amelie simply smiled, her posture softening slightly, and she reached out to stroke Siebren’s cheek even as Moira prepared to protest. The two women were close enough now to touch, but Moira shied away, moving behind Siebren’s seat.

“You did choose well. Your little quirks are so odd, my friend, but you may have hit on something worthwhile.” Amelia lowered herself into another seat, leaning on the table with one arm as she studied Moira further. “You still deserve more. You are a favored child of the night. You are a vampire!”

“I’m not taking your money.”

“A further insult.” Amelie sighed, glancing at Siebren. “So what is he? An athlete? Have your tastes refined since we last met?”

“He’s a professor, actually.” Moira’s grip tightened on Siebren’s shoulder, and she forced herself to relax. “Physics. At the university.”

“Really! And his mind is so small as all that…” Amelie chuckled, meeting Moira’s eyes again. “They’re all so small, when they’re young. You were like that, I presume.”

“Glad I didn’t meet you before I turned, then.”

“It takes that first century, I think. Before that they are too worried about dying.”

“A reasonable concern, especially with you all running around.” Moira lifted her other hand to Siebren’s shoulder, bracing herself. “Let him go.”

“It can’t be a proper girls night if he’s here.” Amelie pouted.

“You’re the worst of every century, Amelie.”

“Simply because they invented nail polish after I died doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy it.”

“At least you can’t watch yourself apply eye shadow.”

Amelie grinned widely again, holding her chin high. “Some of us don’t need it, Moira.”

Moira sighed, refusing the twitch of amusement that threatened her focus. Amelie  _ was _ fun, that was difficult to deny. But she tended to uproot carefully laid plans. She fed wantonly, freely, and it exhausted Moira’s patience. If Amelie decided that she wanted Moira’s “toy”, it would be a hard contest to scare her off again. 

“How long will you be in town?”

“Not long.” Comfortably vague, which meant that she could adjust her plans if she decided it. 

“Well. Maybe we can find a night to meet properly. Now that I know you’re here.”

Amelie smiled, nodding her approval. Moira reassured herself that Amelie was relaxed, able to trade easy conversation like this. They had not always been on good terms, but grudges could occasionally be outlived. Among their kind, they often were.

“Release him? Please?”

“Manners? Well, this is pleasant.” Amelie leaned forward, standing to draw even closer to Siebren and Moira. Moira forced herself to smile, to maintain this balance of politeness for a few moments longer, and Amelie finally reached out to touch Moira’s cheek. If Siebren had been chilly, then Amelie was entirely void, like the coolness of stone. Moira allowed the contact, angling her head to mimic a tenderness she did not feel, then exhaled slowly.

“I like him, Moira.”

“So do I. But I got here first.”

“ _ There’s _ the hunter I know.” Amelie’s lips parted as if to continue, but she looked away instead, studying the angles of Siebren’s face. She dropped her hand to his head, smoothing the dark hair, then withdrew quickly. “He won’t remember me. This time. Give him a while to come back before you have your fun.”

“Amelie--”

“You’ll want to be careful with pets like this. The same quality that attracted you will attract others. And you are not hard to find, if someone is looking hard enough.”

Moira said nothing, pressing her lips together as Amelie stepped back, and held herself still as the other woman turned to go. With the clip of high heels against the tiling, Amelie walked to the door and let herself out, a low light from the hallway flashing into the entryway for the few seconds it took for the door to close again. As soon as the latch clicked, Moira relaxed, pressing her hands against Siebren’s shoulders to massage some feeling into them. She lowered her head to his, pressing against his temple to hold him briefly.

He wasn’t unique. She’d seen humans come and go, cycling through their lives. Her kind, her... _ species _ , they had to be careful with their selections, trusting their secrets with very few. Siebren was a lonely, aging man who had accepted her without hesitation. That kind of trust could get a man killed. But to be welcomed, to be accepted into his arms, to be encouraged even after the pain of feeding--it had weakened her. 

Amelie might have a point. But that didn’t give her the right to come in here and toy with Siebren like this. 

“Moira?” His voice was warm and gentle. He was moving now, shifting, and Moira almost said something in relief before she slid carefully into his lap. She could see the confusion in his face, the flicker of uncertainty, and she grabbed his head before he grew distracted. She had to be careful: seeing Amelie had reminded her of her real strength, and she would have to be conscious not to hurt him. 

He knew her name. That in itself was a concession. And even now, with the mesmerism fading, he reached for her. He  _ trusted _ her. Poor, poor man.

“I’m sorry, Siebren.” She curled toward him, relaxing her grip in order to hide against his body, and she could feel how automatically he cradled her. 

“Sorry?” His voice was still heavy with distraction, but he fought through it, smoothing the fabric of her shirt over her spine. “For what?”

“For--” He wouldn’t remember Amelie. “For keeping you up like this. Disrupting your schedule. Uprooting your life.”

“I haven’t been uprooted.” He shook his head. “Disrupted, yes. I have certainly changed things for you. But I wanted to do that.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do know that. Moira, I had very little before you arrived. I had my work, and I had the gym, and I had my films. I am not as young as I once was and--”

“Don’t say that.”

“--I had no interest, and no opportunity, in starting a regular sort of life. Academia lets men like me survive, making some accomplishments meaningful, giving us order and purpose. I mean, I like my work. But you made it different. Better.”

Moira exhaled slowly, reaching up to smooth Siebren’s hair again, lingering on the short stubble at the nape of his neck. After a long moment, Moira stood carefully and reached for Siebren, pulling him into a standing position and leading him through the darkness. It was difficult for him, with his limited vision, but he allowed himself to be led. As she continued into the bedroom, she pulled him with her to the bed, wrapping her arms around him as he took his place. Behind him, she could pretend she was shielding him, holding him. 

Even as he relaxed, he spoke again. “Why were we in the kitchen?”

“No reason.”

“I didn’t get to greet you.” He actually sounded distraught. Moira kissed his neck, stroking his chest gently to soothe him again. 

“I came in a different way than usual. It was a long night, Siebren.” She was not hungry, and the roar of his blood was a distant thing. She simply enjoyed the sensation of him, holding him like this, and she lifted herself higher to kiss the soft hair behind Siebren’s ear. “Sleep, Siebren. We can talk tomorrow. I’ll be back.”

He hummed his affirmation, relaxing further in her arms, and Moira found herself sinking into a half-sleep alongside him. Somehow, it wasn’t so bad when she could have him. Even without speaking, he was a comfort; even after the effort of facing Amelie, he could restore her so easily. Moira murmured her thanks as his breathing grew slow and even, wrapping herself around him to join him in rest. This was why she’d chosen him. Because just this, just resting here, was enough. 


End file.
